


Sweet Tooth

by KillerKueen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 12:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7684138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerKueen/pseuds/KillerKueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gold didn't have much of a sweet tooth. That is, not until the lovely Belle French started offering her wares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Tooth

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Rumbelle Christmas in July fic event for worryinglyinnocent over on tumblr. The prompt was: lace, lipstick, love after midnight

  


The air smelled sweet; chocolate and flour mixing and hanging heavy. Thick enough to drive a wedge in. Or bottle in one of the clear glasses he kept in his shop. Had a cork top and everything. It was quite pleasant, really, the smell. Something to look forward to every time he walked in. It was the smell that kept him coming. **  
**

“Mr. Gold,” Miss French smiled as she appeared from the swinging door that led to the back. “I wasn’t expecting you today.” The lipstick she wore matched the flower pattern of her sundress. Gold liked how the rich red of her lips contrasted nicely with her blue, blue eyes.

“Hey,” he said, brilliantly. It was the smell. Got him every time.

Not that Miss French ever noticed, sweet thing she was.

“So, what’s the occasion?” she asked, brushing a curl back from her face where it had escaped from her messy bun with the back of her hand.

“Well, my son’s report card has shown an impressive improvement.”

Her face lit up. “Bae did it! That’s fantastic. I knew he could.”

Gold smiled at her enthusiasm. “You and I both, Miss French. Although I know he’s capable of so much more than low Bs and the odd high C,” he said cheerfully.

Miss French laughed. “Ah, but then how could he get you to reward him with sweets?”

“Fair point, that.”

Another tinkling laugh and a sweet, sweet smile rewarded him. “What’s a fair reward for today, Mr. Gold?”

“I think it’s best to keep it simple: how about a quarter pound of the strawberry creams, a quarter pound of the caramel squares, and one Cupcake of the Day.” He knocked his knuckles decisively against the counter. “What is it today?”

“Today’s special is a nutella stuffed chocolate raspberry cupcake. Very gooey. Very rich, and very smooth.”

“Sounds delightful,” Gold said.

Miss French hummed in agreement. “Delightful enough for two of them?”

He pretended to consider, as if she couldn’t get him to agree to anything if only she directed her bright smile at him. ”You’ve convinced me. I’ll take three.”

“You won’t regret it, Mr. Gold,” she chirped, happy with the sale.

He watched patiently and made small talk as she weighed out the chocolates and put them into little bags. They talked about the weather and how hot it was and how he hoped Bae’s reward wouldn’t melt on his walk back to the pawn shop. He watched as she bent over the case to retrieve his three cupcakes and when he noticed a smear of frosting along the ridge of her thumb, he resisted the urge to take her hand and lick it off. To take her delicate, toned arm in his hands and kiss his way from her palm to her elbow to her shoulder, to peel off the strap of her dress and—

“Mr. Gold?”

He was startled out of his fantasy, and he could feel his face heat from his embarrassment at being caught staring.

“Forgive me, Miss French,” he said. It was the sugar in the air. It did things to his head.

“Not to worry. Here you are,” she said as she pushed his bag of goodies towards him and accepted his payment. “I hope to see you again soon.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” Gold said, feeling the side of his lip pull up, even as he clenched the handle of his cane in his hand.

“Please tell Bae congratulations on the improved grades. Oh,” she said, brushing the errant curl away, “and tell him to enjoy the chocolates.”

He smiled. He held the bag tightly in his hand. Bae didn’t like chocolate. He had never really developed a taste for sweets in general, really.

“Thank you, Miss French,” Gold said, nodding. “I will be sure to do just that.”

~*~*~

It was routine at this point. Surely it would be stranger for him to stop showing up completely than to keep up the weekly visit to Miss French’s chocolate shop and bakery. Bae didn’t need to know he was being used as an excuse. Or an escapegoat.

Besides, what was so wrong with indulging every once in awhile? Miss French certainly didn’t seem to mind his presence. He was content with her tolerance, if not outright mild enjoyment when he entered her shop. If that was the best he would ever get, he would make the most of it.

~*~*~

Belle was reaching for powdered sugar and debating what fruit would go best with the vanilla lavender cupcake recipe she was trying (that Gold seemed to prefer fruit flavors to any other that she had tried tempting him with was inconsequential and unrelated to the task at hand).

She certainly wasn’t thinking about just last week, when she was able to get him to sample a tart, right there at the counter. She would swear that watching him lick the custard from his fingers was a religious experience. How he would run his tongue along his lips in search of crumbs alone got her wondering what else he could do with his mouth, or his fingers (okay, so maybe the preferences of a certain pawnbroker were high up on her list of priorities after all).

She shook her head. She needed to concentrate. Last time she started thinking about Gold, she added too much lemon juice and soured the batch; she very much disliked having to throw it out. It was hard to help though—his visits where the best part of her day. The entire week, really.

She had just loaded up the frosting bags when she heard the front door open.

“Just a minute,” she called, placing the bag down on the counter and reaching for a hand towel.

“No worries.”

The voice made her pause. It wasn’t one she heard often.

“Bae?” she asked, as she stepped out of the back. She was pleasantly surprised. For all that she heard about him, they had very rarely crossed paths.

“Hey, Miss French,” the boy smiled. He was growing into a handsome young man, just as polite as his father.

“Please, call me Belle.”

He shrugged. “Miss Belle.”

Smiling, she reached for the sample box behind the register. “I have just the treat for you today. I made them this morning.” She reached for a piece and placed it on the counter between them. “How about a chocolate buttercream drop? It’s a milk chocolate shell with a rich—”

“Oh, no thank you, Miss Belle. I don’t really like chocolate.”

Belle felt her lips turn up at his joke, but his expression remained sincere.

“You don’t like…but…”

Belle starts reaching for a slice of pound cake to offer him, but he shakes his head at that, too. “I’m not a fan of sweets in general.”

All Belle can do is stare at him.

“I know, I know,” he shrugged again good naturedly. “It’s weird and ‘unnatural,’” he said forming air quotes with his fingers.

Belle opened her mouth. Closed it. Shook her head to clear it. “No, that isn’t…ah…you’re in a rather odd place for someone who doesn’t like sweet things,” she said, trying to make her smile not look as forced as it felt. She looked down at the counter, at the chocolate on display so perfectly on their white slips of paper that rested on small glass plates.

She didn’t understand. Why was Gold coming in so often if not to indulge in his son’s sweet tooth? Maybe he was embarrassed by how much he bought, and how frequently. Not that it was any of her business.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking,” Belle said after a deep breath, “what are you here for, if not the chocolate?”

“Well, my papa’s birthday is this week, and I always see bags from here lying around the kitchen and his office at home. I figured it’d be nice to get him something I know he’d like.”

Belle nodded, “yes, that would be nice. I can point out the things he seems to enjoy most, if you like.”

Bae’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You mean there’s more than one?”

“What? More than one thing that he likes?”

“Well, yeah.” Bae shook his head, looking down at the glass case on the counter for the first time. “I mean, that’s just surprising, I guess. I thought that he didn’t really like sweet things either.”

Belle opened her mouth. Closed it. “Wait,” she shook her head. A curl came loose and bounced against her temple, but she ignored it. “What do you mean he doesn’t like sweet things? You mean he doesn’t like chocolate?”

“I don’t really know. Maybe he’s changed his mind,” he shrugged. “I didn’t always like peppers, you know?”

Belle nodded, not sure what else to do. “You must be right about that,” she said.

Gold was an enigma, a real mystery, and she couldn’t guess at his motives. The man was a puzzle: that’s what attracted her in the first place.

“Sorry,” Bae said, bowing his head a little.

“None of that,” she said. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m just being silly.”

“He really does seem to like this place. I mean, I can always tell when he’s come in, because he’s always in a way better mood than before.”

Belle laughed, delighted in spite of herself. “Okay, Bae,” she said, ignoring the pleasant blush that she could feel on her cheeks, “he’s seemed pretty partial to the raspberry truffle, and last week he tried this pastry here…”

~*~*~

Bakers had an early start. It was one of Belle’s favorite things about what she did, if she were quite honest with herself. She woke up in the small hours of the morning and she was at work long before the sun peeked over the horizon. Belle had always thought the beginnings of her days were magic in-between times when the world wasn’t quite centered. There was something she enjoyed about being awake to witness it while the rest of the world slept.

She had just walked up to the back door and was reaching to pull her keys from her purse when something caught her eye in the darkness. She turned to look and saw, about waist high, a reflection from the street lamp about six feet from where she stood.

Belle squinted, only able to see shadows and sunken silhouettes that had no clear shape. She nearly screamed when the shadow moved towards her.

“Miss French, please,” it said quietly. Or rather he said. She knew that voice.

“Mr. Gold?” she asked incredulously. “Do you have any idea what time it is? What the hell are you doing out here?” Her hand was pressed to her chest and she could feel how rapidly it was beating.

“Please forgive me, Miss French,” he said. “I’m so, so very sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Belle waited, expecting him to say something more (give some sort of explanation), but he just stood there, watching her.

“Would,” she began. “Would you like to come in for some coffee?”

Something was wrong, obviously. Gold wasn’t the type to skulk in alleyways scaring the wits out of unsuspecting women, no matter what the rest of the town thought.

“I—I shouldn’t have—I didn’t—”

Belle reached forward and placed a hand on his arm, and his stuttering stopped. “Hey,” she said, “it’s alright. How about you come inside? I’ll fire up the stoves, get a nice pot of coffee going, and then we can talk, alright?”

He sighed, said, “yes, okay.”

Without removing her hand on his arm, she unlocked the door and ushered him into her back room. He looked around with some mild interest when she got the lights on.

“Now,” she said, having sat him down at her work table with a steaming cup of coffee (no sugar, a dash of cream), “Would you like to tell me what you were doing outside?”

“I, uhm, couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, staring into the depths of his cup. His hands were locked around the porcelain in a death grip.

It was only then that Belle really took notice of his appearance. He was wearing a rumpled suit (she assumed it was the one she had worn the day before), he wasn’t wearing his usual tie and there was a delicious sliver of throat she could see through the unbuttoned collar.

“Mr. Gold?”

When he looked up, she smiled reassuringly. “Is it Bae?”

His eyebrows drew together. “No. I mean, not really.”

She looked at him expectantly.

Gold started tapping his index finger against the rim. It was rhythmic. Soothing. Belle watched his face carefully as he seemed to come to some sort of conclusion.

“Bae gave me my present yesterday. He told me what he told you,” his eyes slid away from her, and they refocused somewhere above her left shoulder, to where her open pantry was.

“That you didn’t like sweets just as much as him?” she clarified.

Gold winced. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Bad on the teeth,” he said, shrugging. “Always seems to give me a headache.”

“No,” she shook her head, “why on earth come in here at all if you don’t like what I’m seling?”

His eyes snapped back to hers, and he looked for all the world like a dog left in the rain.

“I just don’t understand, Mr. Gold.”

“Myron.”

“Sorry?”

“My name: Myron. Please, call me that.”

“Myron,” Belle mused, rolling it around her tongue. She liked it. “Only if you call me Belle.”

He nodded. “Of course, Belle,” and there at the corner of his mouth was a ghost of a smile, the first she’d seen all night.

She couldn’t help smile in return. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Hm?” he asked taking a sip of coffee.

“Why come here?”

There was that helpless look in his eyes again. Belle frowned and leaned foreword. She reached out a hand and placed it on his forearm.

In quick, stilted movements, he peeled one of his hands from around the cup and placed it on hers. It was warm from the ceramic, and when he squeezed, the heat sunk into her skin.

He closed his eyes, and seemed to be preparing himself for something.

“It wasn’t the sweets I wanted, no,” he admitted. “It was you. It was always you.”

Belle could feel her heart thumping in her chest. She could feel the smile start from somewhere near her toes.

“The day I first walked in, I knew you were something special,” Myron continued, “with your skirts and sweets and smile. I never stood a chance. Oh, Belle, you were enchanting and you just wanted me to try a piece of chocolate. How could I say no? When can I ever say no to you”

“Do you really mean that?” she asked, so quietly and unsure.

Gold laughed without humor, “I don’t expect anything, my dear, I assure you. Please know I wouldn’t be admitting this if it weren’t three in the morning and if I hadn’t startled you and if I’d actually gotten some damn sleep.”

Belle turned her hand to face up and entwined their fingers. “I always looked forward to your visits, you know,” she admitted shyly. “The mysterious—”

She didn’t get the chance to finish as suddenly his lips were sliding over hers.  

The kiss was, of all things, sweet. His lips were warm and soft, and though their hands remained clasped, he let go of his mug to run his fingers down her back, over her waist. Her free hand wound its way through his hair, tugging gently on the long strands as she crawled into his lap, straddling his thighs. He moaned appreciatively when she ran her tongue along his bottom lip.

They kissed until Belle started to feel light-headed, and she reluctantly had to pull back. She shifted closer, pressed her body against his, her hips against his, her lips against his. When she felt something hard and hot between her legs, she moaned. She moaned louder when he jerked up, pressing harder against her.

She was suddenly aware of his hands up her shirt, his fingers running along the notches in her spine, running over her ribcage, palming her shoulder blades and pressing her closer.

“Myron,” she whined, trying to get the angle right.

She heard him growl, and then she was being lifted and placed on her work table. She didn’t have time to mourn the loss of his heat before he was pushing her legs apart and settling between them.

His hand went to her knees, slid up her thighs, and pressed against her panties. She heard his intake of breath when he discovered they were wet.

“Oh, Belle,” he moaned as he pushed the fabric aside and ran his fingers along her slit.

“Please, Myron,” she gasped when he entered her with two fingers and crooked them.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. His head resting on her shoulder, his face against her neck. His breath hot; his fingers hard. “So tight and wet.”

The only words she could manage were his name and a litany of pleading—the rest was just the sensation of his fingers and the feel of his body pressed as close to her as he could get.

She broke with a wail as he pressed his palm against her clit, and she was sure she would have fallen backwards had Myron not snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her more fully against him.

It took a few minutes for her to come back to herself, and when she did, she buried her face in his shoulder in embarrassment.

“I can’t believe we did that here” she said blushing, though there was no regret in her eyes. “I’m going to be thinking if this moment whenever I’m working.”

Gold’s eyes narrowed and a devious smirk curled his lips. Belle knew what he was going to say before he said it.

“Don’t you dare,” Belle warned as she pushed at his shoulder.

Undaunted, he said, “I would really like to frost your cupcake for you.”

“You’re terrible.” She broke into a fit of giggles. “Tell you what, I’ll put in a sick day and lock up shop. Then we can go back to my house and you can frost my cupcakes till neither one of us can move.”

“Deal,” he said, stealing a kiss as he helped her down.


End file.
